Sunday, September 17, 2006

That Noise

That noise you heard late this morning (it may have actually been audible on the ISS (I know there is no sound in space, but that’s only because there is no media by which to transmit the sound waves, but if you had some piece of the atmosphere blown off the earth by a very loud sound that air WOULD carry the wave and you COULD hear it)) was the sound of millions of suburban American men mowing their lawns before the game.

My wife makes me BAG it. I hate that. Men don’t want to BAG (that’s a tinny sort of word). We want to MULCH! That’s a manly sort of word. It reminds us of what we want our team to do to their opponents. Mulch, slice, dice, shred, mince (well, that’s not too manly either, scratch that), rend, obliterate, ANNIHILATE!

On the other hand, bag is like sack and that’s okay. Yeah, honey, I ain’t gunna bag anymore. From now on I’m gunna SACK the clippings.

Yep, it doesn’t matter what team they support. In fall, on Sundays, when the grass is long and the wife is na- er, I mean reminding lovingly, the boys go out and fire up the Toros, Hondas and Lawnboys. It may not be cut well, but it’s cut, and it’s cut before the game starts. That’s what counts.

2 comments:

Man, I would love to bag my clippings. What do you do with yours? If I were sending mine to a landfill, I wouldn't do it, but we have a big weedy, thistle-ridden pond area right behind our house which is perfect for a traditional mulch pile that no one would ever even see. But my wife insists that we mulch because she says she doesn't want a big ugly pile of clippings in the big ugly pit o' weeds. For some reason it's better to take those 10 bags of clippings and just strew them around the yard, preferably in nice clumpy parallel lines for everyone to enjoy! Just one more reason I'll never understand women.

I have 2 mowers (both push) -- My "new" one with extra horsepower and "push-assist" drive, and my old one that has less horsepower, but for some reason, actually mulches about 5 times better than my new one. The new one will get bogged down and kill in grass that my old one ("Ol' Betsy") sneers at. Even under the best of conditions, the new one belches clods of grass out from under it like it's been eating tainted spinach! My suspicion is it has something to do with the mulching suction power -- the new mower seems to have a much higher, more rounded dome. Basically, I think its eyes are bigger than its stomach.

Firstly I have the standard suburban 1/4th acre (half of which is taken up by house) so there is very little room (and Mrs. Prop also will not tollerate anything with the word compost in it). We do send it to a landfill and pay for the pleasure (actully, like our recycling we also pay for, I think they sell it to some place for THEM to compost).

Do you think that you could dump enough clipings into the pond to actually add "reclaimed" land to your yard (ala Northerly Island in Chicago or large chunks of San Francisco that are destined to flip like a pancake in the next quake)? That would be cool.

I had a dedicated mulcher when I first bought the house. It mulched great. Then we had a combo that supposedly could mulch, bag or just shoot (if you REALLY didn't give a darn). It really didn't do any of them well. Did you ever see "She's Having a Baby"?

Welcome to Illini 6

While deployed in Afghanistan I chose as my radio call sign, Illini6. 6 denoting commander and Illini in honor of my Alma Mater.

This blog is a place to share and enjoy the writings and rantings of the Inner Prop.

Inner Prop was a nickname given to me because in times of stress I call upon my inner prop (Prop is in reference to the Rugy Union position of Prop Forward). The inner prop is like the inner child, only more violent.